


Strawberry Blonde

by starsplash



Category: Linked Universe - Fandom, The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: A Link Between Worlds
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, I'm hurting my boy, I'm sorry i can't tag, Introspection, Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), Multi, Possibly Unrequited Love, let me know what to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24759745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsplash/pseuds/starsplash
Summary: the moments before, in-between and after Legend's latest adventure from Ravio's eyes.
Relationships: Four & Hyrule & Legend & Sky & Time & Twilight & Warriors & Wild & Wind (Linked Universe), Link/Marin (Legend of Zelda), Link/Ravio (Legend of Zelda), Ravio/Legend
Comments: 64
Kudos: 284





	1. yellow petals

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to literally everyone on the LU discord who helped me, whether it be feedback or encouragement!

Ravio treasures every second, minute, hour and day which finds Link back home. 

Between his adventures, the house feels lonelier than it looks - it is cluttered and he’s partially made it into a shop (he needs to make money somehow, after all) and business isn’t bad, not really. 

But it’s not the same without Link.

It could be the middle of the night, with Link stumbling through the door (battered, bloody and bruised) and Ravio will not hesitate. He never does. He fixes up the hero with a careful touch and a request to stay out of trouble if he can help it, although they both know it won’t last. The world is dangerous and Ravio is happy to stay right here and help how he can from home.

And yet, sitting by Link's side as the night air calms the room and he can hear the hero's soft snores, he wonders if there is more he can do. 

Maybe one day, he tells himself as he lets his fingertips trail over strands of strawberry blonde. Maybe one day he'll gain the courage to do more. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Do you think you'll ever be able to stop adventuring?" He asks one day as they lie on their backs in the middle of a field, grass green and soft and it caresses his ears and he can feel the sun's warmth over his face.

"Maybe if Hylia gives me a break," Link grumbles from where he is settled, arms behind his head, hair framing his face and shifting ever so slightly in the breeze that floats over them. 

Ravio moves the arm he has over his eyes to shield them from the sun's glare and turns to face the hero, happy to take in his features and watch him as he speaks.

Link pushes up from the grass, mumbling something Ravio can't quite hear, but it sounds like an apology. It confuses him - Link isn't one to apologise much, if at all. Ravio looks up at the hero expectantly, brows drawn together, and he can feel his heart stutter at the way Link looks at him.

"I'll try," the boy standing next to him elaborates with averted eyes and a subtle down-turned twitch of his ears. "I'll try to come back sooner this time around, I promise."

The breeze flutters past and Ravio feels his hair tickling his cheeks. Lying here, in Link's shadow as the sun bathes the hero in an other-worldly, ethereal warm glow, he wonders how he ever managed to cope without him. 

The sun's still at its zenith when Link makes his way down the hill barefoot, disappearing into the haze of heat that covers the distant houses and Ravio resists the urge to call to him, to bring him back. Instead, he lets his fingers brush lightly over the bed of grass Link left behind and he feels an ache in his chest, threatening to burst at the seams and rip him apart. The wind that runs across the field feels fresh to the skin and sweet to the nose, but he doesn't want it - it just isn't the same when he's alone. He lets his head fall back against the ground beneath him and he sucks in a shaky breath, and he _hopes_.

He _hopes_ that Link will come home, and that Link will return to him.

He thinks that maybe it’s impossible for him not to fall a little bit in love with Link. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The day his hero leaves comes far too soon although Ravio suspects it was inevitable. When he thinks about it, he feels a painful ache deep in his chest, nestling between his lungs.

He resigns himself to watching as Link disappears into a swirling, dark apparition (Ravio recognises it vaguely; it has the same aura as the dimensional tears that granted access between Hyrule and Lorule), and wonders just how far away Link is going this time. 

The people Link leaves with - five of them, Ravio counts reluctantly - are eerily like him, but also seem too different. And yet Ravio feels the same subconscious lingering need to protect and to be assured of their safety and it’s _all the same_ and maybe they’re more like Link than he first thought. 

They leave the town when the sun’s still low, and the warm, comfortable atmosphere Link brings home after every adventure follows them. Ravio does not.

A last-minute, whispered ‘goodbye’ is all Ravio can attempt; the words fall flat and falter uncomfortably in his throat, and it’s too late because they’re gone, _he’s_ gone, and the silence of the early morning steals away the things he leaves unsaid and swallows the house whole. It’s too quiet and it’s too empty despite the furniture and the small spaces and Ravio realises he no longer knows what to do with himself. It’s the same every time Link leaves, but he can’t shake the feeling that this time will be worse. 

The day goes by with little fanfare, with the expected comments from people who come to shop. “Oh, Link’s on another adventure?” “I’m sure he’ll be back in no time.” “Off travelling again, no surprise there.” 

Ravio doesn’t need any more reminders, but he keeps quiet. He keeps quiet so that the words he refuses to say won’t come spilling out whenever he opens his mouth, because there isn’t a world where he is happy without Link, and everyone else seems to be brushing it off as something typical and unsurprising. And it isn’t, _it isn’t,_ because he’s gone and Ravio doesn’t know whether he’s coming back and that scares him the most. 

He’s scared by a lot of things, it seems. 

Ravio dozes off at various points of the day, his feet propped up over the side of the bes and he doesn’t want to hear anything from outside because what lies out there is a town without Link and he’s not quite ready for that. People pass by the windows and he doesn’t try to count them; soon, the day feels like a foggy memory and he floats through it. It’s his day off, after all, so he pretends to be catching up on sleep he never lost and lets the hum of the town lull him. 

There are a few moments where he opens his eyes, just to check - every time, he’s alone, and every time, there are only windows and walls and the filtered light from the slow descent of the sun. Every time the scenery is the same and the sounds are the same, but the sun lowers a little more. None of it matters. 

Maybe he really does fall asleep. Maybe not really. Time is a blur and time keeps going, the house stays the same, and he doesn’t pay attention. But it’s all Ravio has, and so he lies right here and lets the evening take him. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next time he sees Link is fleeting and took far too long to take place. It is sudden and brief and the heroes are gone as fast as they appeared. 

All it takes is a wander around the house and a snoop into the various items that lie about the rooms, left over from Link’s many adventures, and he finds himself face to face with the very person he shares a house with - or shared, rather. It’s been months and Ravio had started to wonder whether the hero would make it back. 

Yet here he is, right in front of Link and his companions.

The summer is merciful today, and the house isn’t as sweltering as it usually is, and the sky outside is a blend of cerulean and ivory, and the town below melds together, all golds and greens and browns. Ravio is glad - had it been any hotter inside, he might have spontaneously combusted where he stands. Instead, he distances himself, allowing his hero the time to regain his bearings, and Ravio can’t hear the usual, familiar warmth in Link’s tone anymore. Well - he can, but it’s no longer directed at him. 

He thinks everybody falls a little bit in love with Link when they meet him, regardless of the initial walls the hero throws up around him. 

There’s something about him that makes people flock to him. Ravio sees it now in the way the brunet with the skittish smile hooks their arms together without a second thought. He sees it in the way the tall, armoured man with the odd facial markings and the fiercely bright eye lets his posture relax easily around him. He sees it in the way the man with the wolf’s hide covering his shoulders and back ruffles strawberry blonde waves, leaving indignant calls and a messily covered look of fondness behind. 

“My dear Mr. Hero,” Ravio cuts in with a grin, and he tries _so hard_ to make it genuine but it doesn’t feel properly settled on his lips. “I protected all of your belongings while you were gone. You should feel lucky I’m not charging you for it!”

A tease that would normally elicit a playful smirk and a rough nudge of his shoulder is instead resulted with dismissal, and Link’s tone is final when he begrudgingly agrees to let him stay, and gives him no other words - not a single ‘how are you?’ or a reassurance that he’d come back for good. Ravio knows the hero isn’t here to stay, and it feels like a stake to the heart. 

It’s exactly what Ravio feared and he hates himself for it. He can almost hear his expectations and hopes crumble around him, dragging his guts with them and making his body run ice cold in the heat of summer. All he does is swallow and turn his head to the group, offering a smile that’s as real as the island Link once told him about.

And when Link is gone (again, he’s gone _again,_ and Ravio wants him to come back), he sits on the side of the bed, fidgeting restlessly with some object he picked up - he doesn’t know what it is, and he doesn’t care. 

It’s the silence he hates, above all else. He’s used to silence and it’s never comfortable but it is familiar, yet this - this feels different. He can’t keep choking on empty air, waiting for the silence to break by itself. He can’t stay like this, staring out at the door and hoping that somehow, someday, Link would appear and he would stay. But he can’t help it. He wishes and dreams and _hopes._ He thinks that maybe, if this adventure doesn’t end soon, he might go out there and bring Link back himself. If only he had the courage to do more for him. 

_So bring him home,_ he begs whatever deity that might be watching over him in his pitiful place, unable to move and unable to speak. _Bring him home so I can forget the days and weeks spent thinking about him and the hours I spent alone._ The world is silent, always, and he lets himself slip back into sleep with eyes glazed over with tears he refused to shed. _Bring him home so I can stop thinking._

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s the flowers that gets him this time.

Link keeps a vase with a bundle of flowers close to his bed and this is what Ravio finds himself eyeing as he sits at the table, hands clasped and hair a mess. He doesn’t see the point in trying to tame the wildness of his curls - there is more to do, and more to think about. Thinking it over, he knows the only reason those flowers are there is that Link cares for them more than he’s seen anyone care for flowers before. He wonders if it might have something to do with the island - he can’t remember the name, but the girl Link told him about with something akin to reverence, her name is burned into his mind, branded as a constant reminder that Ravio is not enough for Link, but he doesn’t blame him. He never does. Marin is as much a part of Link as the adventures he goes on and the places he loves. 

But seeing the vase, atop the bedside table, hurts a little more than it would normally. How many months until Link returned? How many would it be, how long would it take, _is he even coming back?_

Ravio hears his own breath hitch but he doesn’t feel it and there’s a ringing in his ears. He’s here, in a house that isn’t his with a vase of hibiscus flowers and a desire to do so much more than sit and wait, not knowing what to do. He stands up and he can barely feel it but his chest is burning and he can feel something wet on his face but he doesn’t want to know what it is. The only thing he can focus on is the vague memory of the day he found Link, sitting out in the grass with a flower in his hand and a pensive look. 

“You love her, don’t you?” Ravio had said, quiet and yet so sure. The look Link had given him in return was reserved and he had bitten his lip as he thought, brows drawn together.

“I think she’ll always have a piece of my heart,” Link finally said, eyeing the white and pink flowers in his hands. “But that doesn’t mean she has all of it.”

_ Well _ , Ravio thinks now, standing far too close to the vase of flowers,  _ maybe I never had a piece of it. Maybe it was a lie. He’s not coming back, is he? _

There’s a crash, and the skin on the underside of his feet is wet quickly from the water that spills across the floorboards, splattered with no certain direction, and his toes brush against a piece of the ceramic vase, and he realises just what he’s done. He draws his hand back to himself slowly - his fingers are shaking and his vision is blurry but he bends over to gingerly pick up a stem with yellow flowers that are too bright for the room and he hates them, he  _ hates  _ them, because they are nearly the same colour as Link’s hair and that hurts a little too much. He drops them as if his fingers had been burnt, and he sinks to the floor, and everything’s too much for him right now. 

His fingers brush over petals lying despondently in a pool of water and he feels an ache in his chest.

Falling asleep that night is more of a difficult task than drifting off usually is but he can’t stop thinking of strawberry blonde hair and a distant, painful voice, and he dreams of a world where adventures aren’t necessary and he isn’t alone.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	2. flowers on the breeze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who gave feedback and read all the snippets, it really motivated me to get this done.   
> with that said, here's chapter 2 of 'strawberry blonde'! hope you enjoy!

Ravio knows somewhere in his heart that this isn’t the right thing to do. There is no thought or reasoning behind it, and so he should not be doing it.

He does it anyway. Of course he does - he would crawl through caverns and walk over sparking coals for Link. If it means getting Link back, he’ll do it.

It’s this thought process that finds Ravio out of his comfort zone in a world he does not know (and doesn’t fully remember getting to) and searching through the trees. He helps, when he finds a world at war with itself, and torn apart at the seams. He helps and he hopes for a chance to find someone he’s missing, and he  _ misses _ him. He misses home, and he misses warmth and strawberry blonde.

Whatever it takes to reach him, Ravio will do it.

There’s a hibiscus flower behind his ear, hidden by his hood. A reminder of things he shouldn’t do and things he shouldn’t say and the words that stick uncomfortably at the back of his throat. 

Words he’ll never say out loud, if he can help it. 

He doesn’t find him - not this time, anyway. Apparently this world has its own Link, a Link who left on another adventure. 

Disappeared into a swirling, dark archway, they say. 

He doesn’t want to think about the implications of that. 

He loses track of time, in this world where everything is too different from home and the only reminder of the world he left behind is Sheerow nestling into his scarf, trilling occasionally - sometimes it feels like his companion is trying to comfort him. 

Ravio isn’t sure he deserves that comfort - not yet, at least. He has a job to do.

The longer he spends in this world ravaged by violence, full of intertwining timelines and people who should never have met, the more he feels as if his mission was pointless. He is making no progress and he still doesn’t know where his hero is. 

_ Maybe giving up would be easier,  _ his thoughts would suggest in the early hours of the morning as he stares up at the sky, at the endless stars that stretch across it, but he doesn’t entertain the thought for long. If there’s one thing he’s determined to do, it’s find Link. Regardless of how long it may take. 

  
  


The stars watch him. They flicker.

Ravio feels like he could flicker back. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Six months. 

Six months of pushing himself to every limit he has to save a world that isn’t his, waiting and watching and so, so close to giving up.

And he finally finds his hero.

The moment isn’t all he thinks it would’ve been - Link is standing in the main camp with nine others (five of which Ravio recognises from a day he’d rather not reminisce on) - and time keeps moving. Everything keeps moving and Link hasn’t noticed him yet, and Ravio realises there is so much he can’t say. Not here, not now.

He’s not as brave as he wishes he was. 

So when he finally walks up to them, he plasters a smile on his face, trying to ignore the looks on their faces, and he waves.  _ Waves.  _ Because that’s the easiest thing to do, right now. What is the alternative? Speaking out, telling Link exactly what he went through in hopes of finding him? 

That isn’t an option. It will never be an option.

“You done with your adventure yet, Mr. Hero?” Ravio asks, in the most positive, nonchalant voice he can muster, because he can feel his hands shaking and he has to have at least  _ some  _ kind of control over the situation. 

Link gives him a long look and oh,  _ oh,  _ Ravio missed those eyes. They hold a depth to them, brighter than the sky in midsummer and with a light that Ravio likes to think never really goes away. He’s ethereal, and there is something there that Ravio can’t quite understand. 

“Where have you been?” He demands, and there it is, the fire in his voice and the stubborn frown that crosses his features and Ravio forgets for a moment that he’s not been home for six months. 

He probably should have thought about that. 

Instead, he shrugs it off. It doesn’t matter. He’s been here, and now  _ Link  _ is here, and none of it matters. “Around,” he replies and his throat is burning. He ignores it. 

Link’s hands by his side are relaxed, fingers curling ever so slightly. He’s focused, looking straight ahead, but his head’s a bit tilted to the side, and his eyes are a bit hooded; Ravio knows Link is paying more attention than he lets on, but the atmosphere is relaxed and the sun is low and Ravio doesn’t think any of it matters. Standing here, pretending it was all just another adventure, that it was pointless, is easy. Looking at Link while he stands here with him, with all of his boldness and his courage and  _ him, _ is easier.

“How’d you even- you know what, forget it. I won’t even bother questioning you right now.” The exasperated edge to his voice borders on disappointment and Ravio can feel his eyes burning, now. But he’d rather turn and run away, he’d rather  _ die  _ than have to cry in front of Link right now. Anything but that. 

The only thing he manages is a noise - he isn’t sure what it is but it’s quiet and he can’t push out any words. He can’t speak because his throat is tightening up and everything is a little too much, so all he does is nod, and turn his gaze to the group behind Link. The one with the blue scarf has his eyes on him, and Ravio  _ doesn’t like the look on his face.  _

Because he clearly knows more than he should. He saw Ravio’s face, he saw through all of Ravio’s carefully placed walls, and he doesn’t know how to feel about that. 

The noise Link makes is more like an impatient scoff as he walks past him, and Ravio pretends with all his might that it doesn’t hurt but Link didn’t look at him and Ravio can feel it eating him up inside and he  _ hates it so, so much.  _

Link doesn’t look back, of course. So Ravio smiles and smiles again and maybe he shouldn't have come out here at all, maybe he should have stayed at home and forgotten about everything but he can’t and he doesn’t and he  _ made  _ the decision to be here and he’s never regretted anything more than he does now.

Because Link doesn’t care, and that is so much worse than six months of war.

It’s not supposed to be like this, Link isn’t supposed to be like this - he’s supposed to  _ care, _ he’s supposed to say more and Ravio missed him so much that it nearly tore him in two but here he is and nothing is the same. He wants to go back.

He wants to go back to when things were simpler. 

He wishes he couldn’t remember it. He wishes he couldn’t remember the feelings, the certitudes and the things he nearly said. 

Maybe things would have been easier, then. He thinks it would be. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The hibiscus is gone. 

Ravio sees it float away as he sits on the edge of a rock, watching as the flower is whisked away by the breeze, and he thinks to reach for it but he doesn’t.

He doesn’t want to, not really. He’s glad to see it go. 

Maybe it’s the thought of something so viscerally connected to Link being a part of him that scares him, that makes him want to get rid of it - it’s a constant living reminder of an island and a girl who mean more to Link than he ever will and he knows, he  _ knows  _ that it’s more than fair. He didn’t experience what Link did.

But he can’t help but wonder. 

Between the myriad of thoughts crowding his head and the cacophony of his own heartbeat thundering violently in his ears, he doesn’t have time to get up. He doesn’t want to get up, so he doesn’t. He sits here, enjoying the languid brush of the wind against his skin and the half-hidden light of the sun behind a covering of clouds - a shield, maybe. It’s fitting, he thinks. Since a shield is all he wants right now - something to protect him, something to hide him away from his mistakes and from  _ Link.  _

He never thought he’d think that. 

There’s a river running down between the hills, blue and green against pale rocks, and it rolls and bends in the curves of the ground like a ribbon of silk. The scale of it steals Ravio's breath away, massive yet so meticulously detailed, and it distracts him. It would look better in summer, he thinks, but this is fine. This is more than okay because it’s better than turning back to them.

He doesn’t know how to say  _ I love you  _ in words just yet, and he doesn’t have the courage to, so he stays right here and tries to forget, in hopes that time would pass faster and he could return home where nothing is expected of him and everything makes sense. 

(That night he dreams of hibiscus flowers floating across a valley of gold, and he lets the night take him away.) 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ravio wakes to the incessant calls of the birds, and something on the edge of his consciousness pulls him from slumber. 

The horizon is bathed in the pale gaze of the sun - it’s not quite morning, with the sky still dappled with grays and darkness fading in the distance, and the hum of the insects in the grass hasn’t gotten too loud yet. He basks in it, and nearly forgets the days gone past. 

But it catches up with him eventually and he sits up with heavy limbs and an uncomfortable knot in the back of his throat. The noises around him become clearer and he tries to focus on them, and  _ oh,  _ he wishes he could go back to sleep.

Because he hears the voices from the other tent carry on the wind, and he’d know Link’s tone of vitriol anywhere. 

It’s the one with the blue scarf he hears first. “Are we gonna talk about it?” He asks, and Ravio feels a surge of guilt. He shouldn’t be listening to this. 

Link’s response is cold and clipped. “About what?”

“About yesterday,” the captain - Warriors, he remembers Link calling him - says flatly. It’s straight to the point and Ravio wants to hide his head under his pillow. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Link’s tone is final and listening to it makes Ravio feel horrible. It’s not how it’s supposed to go and he doesn’t even know what he’s listening to. It’s a knife to the chest, and he wishes he could speak out, but he can’t. He can’t, so he listens despite his better judgement. 

“You saw his face,” Warriors argues, and maybe he’s just as stubborn as Link. “You saw it and so did I. You could’ve actually done something to make him feel better, yknow?”

Link’s voice is scathing. “Or I could ignore it.”

Ravio can hear his heart. The silence that follows the statement is thick and tense and he can’t  _ breathe  _ and he wishes he weren’t here, he wishes he couldn’t hear and he  _ wishes  _ that it was different. 

He wants to go home. 

“Ignore it?” Warriors’ incredulous tone slices through the silence like a knife through butter and Ravio wants to argue that it’s useless. Arguing with Link is useless because he won’t falter for a moment in making his thoughts on the matter clear and irrefutable. “Are you insane? Are you trying to hurt him? What exactly do you mean?”

“I mean,” Link shoots back and the words are gritted out, and it’s his voice that sends Ravio cowering back into his blankets. He doesn’t want to hear another word but he can’t  _ help  _ it. “Ignoring it. It’s just - I’m so  _ tired  _ of having to think it through. If I spent less time  _ thinking about it all-” _

“Legend-”

“He shouldn’t even be here in the first place,” Link continues, his voice getting louder with every word and Ravio flinches. The hero’s right. He shouldn’t even be here. “He should still be at home and this would all be so much simpler if I didn’t  _ know-” _

“Legend, come on, you know that’s-”

“That he  _ came out here just to find me!  _ It’s too much and I- it would be easier if we hadn’t come here at all. I hate all of this.”

_ Hate _ , now this is something Ravio doesn’t know how to feel about. He knows Link never felt the same, and probably never will – is it this easy for him to hate something, to want to throw something away even though there’s nothing but Ravio’s presence attached to it?

_ Hate  _ hurts.

It’s a moment of baited breath and a tight feeling in his chest, and Ravio barely hears Warriors’ reply.

“So, what are you going to do?” Warriors asks, and Ravio isn’t sure he wants to hear the answer.

Link breathes in deeply. “I don’t know,” he admits, and his voice doesn’t have the same bite to it anymore. He stays silent, and Ravio is already up, already out of his tent.

Already half-way to the woods.

Anything to get away.

Maybe it’s the distance, but Ravio could swear his heart is beating much slower than it had been, yet he cannot see beyond a few feet of him and it’s all blurry and everything melds together in a mutated, formless vision of muted colours and he blocks it all out. He blocks it all out because all he can think about is the fact that Link  _ knows.  _

Link knows and it feels like a fever dream, with the thoughts running circles in Ravio’s head. It’s such a mess and he doesn’t know what to say, what to ask for, where to begin.

Ravio doesn’t know, and it  _ hurts _ , and he can’t start overthinking now, he can’t take the risk of crying it out  _ now _ , so he stalls until he falls to his knees next to a tree and curls in on himself, and then he stalls some more.

He spends the day in a haze of too many thoughts and he just wants to go back home, he just wants to go  _ back home,  _ out of this world and and out of this war, and thinks about how he doesn’t know how to pay the price for it.

The distance he feels expanding between himself and Link is profound, and he doesn’t think about bridging the gap. He wants to stay away, and he can’t imagine getting close now. Not now, and maybe not ever. He thinks that he may never be able to say  _ I love you  _ in words.

The time isn’t right and he isn’t ready.

So he lies here and forgets how to say  _ I love you  _ and lets the morning fade away into a dream.


	3. wilting stems and falling rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you again to everyone for the comments, feedback and advice! without further ado, chapter 3!

The summer burns and Ravio feels like he could burn with it.

It's hot, it's sweltering and it smothers everything. The noises of the town are muffled by the sheer overwhelming haze of heat the sun beats down upon them, and the air bends, undulating in mirages over his skin. He can feel his lungs filling up with air too heavy, too thick to breathe. Ravio can no longer tell if the sun is burning him or not, his whole body having somehow given up on feeling temperature differences.

He's not seen Link in three months.

Thoughts of him are unavoidable, and they break through the walls he has tried so  _ desperately  _ to put up and it's not because of the heat. He thinks of Link, of strawberry blonde shifting in a summer's breeze, and it's not because of the weather. 

The thoughts fill his head to the brim, seeping into the hidden crevices and into his subconscious and he  _ dreams  _ of a boy with soft hair sifting across his cheeks, and eyes so intense and earnest in the emotions they convey, and his own hand reaching across and faltering, shying away from the calloused, battle-worn fingers of the hero.

He falls in love slowly, and all at once. 

He’s fallen in love with fierce, encouraging words -  _ You’re a hero too. Don’t sell yourself short.  _ \- and he’s felt his heart pound unevenly in his chest because no one has ever looked at him like that before. 

He’s fallen in love with rough skin and tilted smiles and quiet, hidden murmurs of support. It feels a little like magic, he thinks. 

But it’s a little too late for that, and he’s not even sure he wants to  _ see  _ Link again. No, that’s not right - he isn’t sure if he’s  _ ready  _ to see Link again. 

For now, Ravio finally lies against the wall, soaking up the scorching warmth the sun provides, in Link’s wake. Left in the dust, with nothing to show for it but six months of violence he hadn’t meant to experience. He lets himself drift further each day until he no longer knows what’s real.

It’s a quiet mercy he allows himself to indulge until the air is cool and biting and he has fallen into a routine that repeats every day and sends his mind in circles he does not know how to escape. 

It’s a mercy that he can forget. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They barge through the door in the middle of the night and all he can see is  _ red.  _

It’s dark, and he can hardly see anything, but he  _ smells  _ it, sharp and pungent, and his mind flits back to the taste of warm, coppery blood on his tongue. Whatever is wrong, he can guess that it isn’t anything good. If they were unable to stop whatever this was yet, then they needed help. 

It’s only when he sees matted strawberry blonde hair and bloodstained, rough skin that he really feels an icy grip over his shoulders, tensing and tightening and it can’t be him, it  _ can’t  _ be him, because he’s supposed to be safe. He’s supposed to be  _ safe and fine, _ even without Ravio. 

He stumbles forward, in a daze, and it’s not quite real; he’s not fully  _ there  _ because all he can think about is the way those eyes used to look at him and now they’re shut and he can’t even tell if Link is  _ breathing.  _

“What happened?” The question escapes his lips with a strangled noise and he turns his gaze desperately to the skittish brunet who is doing more for Link right now than Ravio could. Hyrule’s face is scrunched up and his hands are visibly trembling, but there is light coming from them and Ravio realises that he is using  _ magic  _ and it doesn’t feel  _ real.  _

“Moblins,” the tall one with the armour and the markings says and his voice is the steadiest voice he has heard in a long time. It is authoritative and he needs it because it makes him think that maybe there is more control over the situation. “We were ambushed. Legend took the worst of it.”

He doesn’t think, blocking the noises out and focusing on Link. That was all there was to focus on right now -  _ Link.  _ He doesn’t hesitate to rest his arms carefully around his hero, propping him up. He speaks in a tight voice as he rests his palm on Link’s face, running his thumbs over the skin, brushing away the hair that is stuck to his forehead with sweat and blood and he doesn’t understand how this could happen. “Wake up, you can’t - no, no,  _ no. Please.”  _

He hears Hyrule say something, but he doesn’t hear, doesn’t listen. It doesn’t matter, none of what he says matters because Link is  _ right here,  _ and Ravio has witnessed enough death already and this is so much more. This is the culmination of more than a year of waiting and searching and wishing and the realisation that he is in  _ love  _ and he cannot say it. 

“C’mon, Mr. Hero, you’re here, you’re home.  _ Please,  _ look at me, I’m right here, please,  _ Link-”  _ his voice breaks, at that, he can taste salt on his lips and realises belatedly that his cheeks are wet with tears. He holds onto Link’s shirt with a vice-like grip and it’s warm and wet to the touch. Pulling the hero to his chest, carding another hand through strawberry blonde hair in repetitive motions because he  _ needs  _ to be able to feel him there, and everything he does is an attempt to assure himself that Link is tethered to the earth, still here with him, and after all this time hoping and praying for Link to come home, his hero has returned with a wound that could very well mean he will never see those eyes again and he can’t imagine a world without them. 

It takes a hesitant hand on his shoulder to snap him out of it, and a voice next to his ear. 

“I need to help him, please. Please let go.”

Let go? 

He can’t let go - he wants to, but Link will vanish again like every other time, he’ll disappear once more when the dust has settled and Ravio’s back is turned, he’ll go with the wind, and Ravio can’t let go, he can’t put himself through that. He can’t think about that.

But various hands pry his hero away from him and he is useless to stop them. 

“Wait,” he manages to say thickly, but it’s lost in the whirlwind of movement and words and he hates his own voice, hates the way it wavers and he  _ knows  _ he’s scared but he doesn’t want to be. He wants to be brave, he wants to not be afraid, to convince himself that he’ll be okay but he  _ won’t.  _

This year has been a parenthesis in time. It has been nothing but searching blindly, bridging the gaps between the dimensions and it has been empty spaces and empty words and every part seemed to blur together. Ravio has seen too much in that time and he has the scars on his back and his shoulders to prove it and it meant nothing. He clings to the details, to every moment he has in his memory that includes pale, burning eyes and rough hands and an ache deep in his chest, between his ribs and in his heart.

And that’s not an excuse. It’s not an excuse and he won’t treat it as one.

Yet here he is by Link’s bedside, as the sky turns from indigo to pale gray and they’re alone, and his fingers trace the lines of the bandages that wind around Link’s chest, stained already. He doesn’t think as he leans down, pressing his lips in a lingering kiss between the hero’s brows, and tells himself that it’ll all be worthless when Link wakes up, lost to his memories. It’ll all be fake, and colorless, and dull on the tongue.

So the morning comes and goes with a whisper of wind and every shallow breath that escapes Link’s lips, and Ravio listens to it all.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Link is healing, and Ravio distances himself. He distances himself so that Link would not need to see him, and Ravio doesn’t know who he’s convincing when he reasons that Link doesn’t  _ want  _ to see him. 

The sky is overcast and he can no longer see the pale eye of the sun, and he is thankful now for the warmth his clothes provide in particular. The group Link travels with have made themselves at home in the small house, and they help around. It’s a strange feeling, not having the house to himself anymore, but Ravio is okay with it. This is fine, this is something he can handle. Seeing Link actively avoid him is not. 

That afternoon finds him sitting outside, brushing his fingers over the flowers and he doesn’t lose himself in his thoughts - he focuses on the hum of the breeze and the shift of the petals and he  _ doesn’t  _ think about him. 

That is, he doesn’t think about him until Hyrule plops down, cross-legged, beside him. He seems less full of that anxious thrum of energy that he had possessed when they had first met; the boy seems more comfortable. The brunet shoots him an awkward smile and Ravio does not know how to respond to that, beyond a hesitant mumble of, “Hello.”

Hyrule, surprisingly, skips the pleasantries, but he is softly spoken and that is far more reassuring. “Legend’s just being stubborn,” he says with a tilt of his lips, and Ravio wishes he could believe him. This boy had such an air of sincerity and his words seem honest, and Ravio wants so badly to believe him. 

“I know,” Ravio responds in a taut voice and he does, he  _ does  _ know. Link is one of the most stubborn people Ravio knows. “But it’s not - it’s not just that. He doesn’t want to see me. He doesn’t  _ need  _ to see me.” He laughs, but it’s bitter and it crawls out of his throat and he squeezes his eyes shut. 

There’s a moment of quiet, steady and patient, before Hyrule finally speaks. “He doesn’t hate you, y’know.” Ravio cracks open an eye and finds the other boy’s gaze on him and he doesn’t want it there. He doesn’t want to be seen like this. 

“I think it would be easier if he did,” Ravio croaks out and he exhales a shaky breath and he  _ tries  _ but his eyes are stinging. 

“You should talk to him,” Hyrule states matter-of-factly, and his words ring with confidence and assuredness. “You two need to talk out whatever is going on with you.” 

Ravio knows this, he  _ knows  _ it but he doesn’t want to. He responds with a noncommittal noise and stares out at the flowers, watching them sway beneath the caress of the wind, and he waits.

The other hero eventually gives up, standing and saying something that Ravio doesn’t quite hear. 

Ravio does get lost in his thoughts, this time.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They’re alone in a room, and it is raining. 

The rain beats down loud and hard but it’s background noise. It’s all put to the back of his mind, because it’s just him and Link and the small space between them. He can practically feel the tension in the air, and he lets out a shallow breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. 

“So,” he says and he can hardly hear himself. There’s a ringing in his ears he can’t tune out properly, and he nearly turns tail and runs when Link’s gaze lands on him. It burns, looking through him as if he were made of smoke, and he flinches under it. “We should talk.” 

“Should we?” The hero replies, and it’s a biting, discomforted remark. “What is there to say?”

He ducks his head, averting his eyes, and he wishes Link would stop looking at him but he  _ doesn’t.  _ “Too much.” The words come out in a murmur, hardly audible, and the rain almost drowns it out. 

“Enlighten me,” Link grits out and his forehead is furrowed in a frown. His arms are crossed over his chest and he stands tall. He’s every bit as confident and self-assured as Ravio remembers, and he can feel the ache in his heart getting more prominent. 

“I know you - you know I went out there. For you, I mean,” Ravio manages to say and it’s small, it’s shuddering but he forges onwards. He needs to speak, he needs to get it out before it rips him apart from the inside. “You know how I feel.” It’s not a question. 

The look Link gives him is long and lingering and he takes a step closer. Ravio doesn’t move. His fingers are shaking, but he doesn’t move. “I don’t want to talk about this,” he says, and it’s rough. His voice is rough and taut and thick and Ravio is so close to saying it in words, but his mind protests -  _ are you sure this is what you want? Are you sure this is you?  _

He’s sure. 

“We need to talk about it.” It’s a statement and he finally raises his eyes, and they meet Link’s, and he doesn’t pull away, for once.

And it’s quick - the hero tries to walk past him, tries to walk to the door, and Ravio holds out an arm. He splays his hand flat on Link’s chest, gently pushing him back, and now they’re face-to-face and the air is thick and the rain keeps pouring. He thinks he hears distant thunder but he doesn’t pay it any attention.

“You can’t pretend none if it means anything,” Ravio says, and his own voice is wavering and the words almost get stuck in his throat but he says them anyway. “You  _ can’t.” _

“I don’t  _ need to say anything,”  _ Link says and it’s forced from his throat, and Ravio wants to take it back but he doesn’t. “I can  _ pretend  _ all I want.” The noise he makes is painful and Link’s legs are shaking a little. He reaches out and weakly tries to hit him; Ravio reaches out and puts his hands on the hero’s shoulders. Link’s eyes have a sheen to them - they look wet, and Ravio wants to reach out and wipe away the tear that escapes when Link blinks, so he does. He brushes his thumb over Link’s skin and he waits. 

Link’s fists are clenched as he clenches his jaw, and the distance between them is so, so small. Ravio wants to say so much but he leaves it unsaid - he leaves it for another time, and feels that maybe this is the bravest he’s ever been, and will ever be. 

Ravio takes this opportunity to take in the details, to take in every feature that adorns his face, from the slight-burning fire in half-lidded eyes; the low, drawn together line of his brows; the curve of his lips as he tries to speak and can’t. His hair is soft, as usual, and it lines his face, hanging over his forehead, and Ravio had missed it. He had missed the strawberry blonde that rested gently over his cheeks and curled over the nape of his neck. 

Something - he doesn’t know if it’s the close atmosphere or the need to be closer - draws them together, and their foreheads meet. Ravio can feel the tip of Link’s nose brushing his own and he doesn’t know what to do, he hadn’t thought this far ahead, but he is so  _ sure  _ of what he does. So when Link closes the distance and their lips barely touch but it’s  _ there,  _ and it  _ happened,  _ Ravio can’t keep the surprised tone out of the noise that escapes him. 

Link’s head drops onto Ravio’s shoulder with a shaky exhale and he mumbles something that makes Ravio’s heart stop in his chest and everything stops, time falters and he wants to take it back. 

“We can’t do this.”

It’s mumbled against his shirt and he doesn’t move when Link draws back, averting his eyes. The hero’s face is hardened and he won’t look at Ravio and he can feel Link’s words curl up into his head and take root. 

“What do you mean?” He hears himself ask but it’s not quite there, it’s not fully real, and it hurts. It hurts so, so much. It digs into his heart and the deepest nooks of his mind, and he wants to forget like he had been managing so well over the months alone. The thunder is loud, but his heartbeat in his ears is louder. 

“We can’t,” Link repeats and he takes a step towards the door, and another.

Ravio doesn’t stop him. 

Watching him go, Ravio can feel his breaths coming out short and fast and he sinks to the floor, wrapping his arms around himself, and he lets his anguish out in a keening cry that leaves his throat sore and his chest heaving and he presses his forehead against the floor as hard as he can and he wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole, to take him away from here. 

He doesn’t sleep that night as the rain falls, and he falls with it. 


	4. a life in your shape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh gosh, it's been a wild ride finishing this fic. i finally got the time and patience to do it and i want to thank everyone who helped me through this, gave me feedback and all of your reactions made me so happy. so, without further ado, chapter 4. i love all of you <33

The next morning is tense and it’s full of loaded glances and unsaid words. 

Ravio pretends he doesn’t see the way Link pointedly looks away when he walks into the room, and he pretends he doesn’t see the pity in Hyrule’s eyes. He pretends he doesn’t see the scorn on Warriors’ face as he looks at Link, and he locks it all inside his chest. 

The air is cold, crisp and thin. It bites at his fingers and cheeks, and he would stay indoors but right now, the only thing he wants to do is escape, far away from here. But he has a job, so he stays. He has a _home._ Even if it doesn’t quite feel like home anymore. 

They’ll be leaving any day now, his mind reasons. _And then I’ll be alone again,_ he counters. This - none of it is comfortable, but it is better than nothing, and he could never wish those eyes, that voice, out of his life. 

He’s prepared to be alone again, but that doesn’t mean he wants to be.

What he decidedly _isn’t_ prepared for is a flash of light and a portal, and a hand - is it a hand? It feels rough, it feels sharp - grabbing him by the back of his robes, pulling him through, and the very last thing he sees before darkness is Link lunging for him, distress and determination clear on his features. It’s sudden, and he’s gone, and he hears a scream (he doesn’t know who is screaming because everything is hazy and he can’t hear anything beyond the whirlwind of sound from the portal, and he’s _gone._

He feels something burning against the side of his abdomen but he ignores it; he feels something ripping through his cloak but he _ignores it,_ because he has lost Link again. 

He has lost Link again, and he doesn’t know where he is. 

Looking around takes effort but the hand is gone and he is alone, he is _alone_ and he doesn’t recognise where he is until he listens closer and he _does_ know where he is and his heart sinks to his stomach. Anywhere but here, _anywhere -_ he reaches back and he can feel the scars criss-crossing his back and the memories that come with them and he can’t be here, he _can’t._

His chest constricts and he lets himself fall forward against the grass, clutching his hands to his abdomen - it’s sticky and hot and _searing_ but that isn’t what he focuses on. Breaths come out short and fast and his muscles protest when he tries to move. Squeezing his eyes shut doesn’t help; the images in his head flash across his vision and he is _helpless to stop it, make it stop, make it_ **_stop._ **

He’s not sure when things start making sense again, but there is a faint noise as he moves over the grass. A breath of chill whispers down his back and over his form, and he lies there, fingers curling in on themselves, red tracing thin lines down his stomach and onto the ground beneath him. His heart beats, and he sucks in an uneven breath.

He lives. 

As he walks, he cannot shake the feeling of being watched, and it sends shivers up his spine. He eyes every shadow, every dark corner, but there is nothing. 

He is alone. 

His useless wandering eventually brings him to a camp - they recognise him, they take him in, and although their words are firm and no-nonsense, they are not unkind. Ravio wonders if the look in his eyes is as haunting as he feels; the phantom figure of Link he keeps in his mind’s eye, that expression, the desperation he saw as he was dragged away, it lingers with him and he has never felt Link’s absence so viscerally.

His dreams are a muddle of mirages and shapes he can’t quite make out, and it’s another world, here. Here, he has lost his weight, his sight, and his reasons to leave, to search. It’s a world of his own creation, where he can’t speak, he can’t hear, he can’t take anything. He reinvents his own senses, and lets himself forget the days that pass quicker than he can comprehend. Has he been here for a week? A month? It’s surreal, and he holds onto every moment with a loose grip, and he knows if he falters for even a second, those days will slip away from him. 

The days blur together, and he gives up on hoping.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

His hair is longer now. 

That’s the first thing he notices, as he sits down by the stream side. His fingers trail into the water and he lets himself relax - the chill water isn’t biting, it’s not cruel. It’s a cold reverie that he doesn’t want to give up, and he feels it sink through his skin and settle into his bones. His reflection looks up at him from the gentle ripples, and he cannot recognise himself beyond the colours. 

His cheeks are marred with little scratches, and his freckles are no longer as clear as they had been. His hair easily covers his eyebrows and he can hardly see past the strands - he should probably tie it back, but he doesn’t. He can’t bring himself to. 

Time is meaningless, here, and he has long since given up all hopes of finding his hero.

Which is what he keeps telling himself when he hears cries somewhere to his right, deep in the forest.

He gets up slowly, and his muscles are still tense. He stretches. The sky is grey, the sun gone, hidden behind it. It’s an oncoming storm that acts as a veil, covering the horizon and the rain starts almost the moment after he reaches the edge of the clearing. Not that he cares - his side twinges, but all he can focus on is the feeling of the cascading rain against his face, blown over the forest by the raging lungs of the clouds overhead. He could stop here and ignore the cries, he thinks. Maybe this storm would leave another mark on him. 

Forcing himself to move, he peers through the sheets of rain and he can see a group of people. They’re fighting the storm as hard as they fight the monsters in front of them, and he feels a sense of familiarity that he can’t place. He doesn’t understand why the voice he barely hears over the thunder rings in his head, vivid and clear.

… _Link?_

His body is moving before he can stop it, and he spots his hero easily, despite the water in his eyes - he can’t tell if it’s rain, or if he’s crying - and Link is the same as he’s always been. His eyes are filled with a fury unmatched by even the most ferocious of beasts, brighter than any roaring fire, and he can’t remember how long it’s been.

Link spots him and his lips part. He’s still, unwavering under the beating of the storm, and he says something that cuts through the cacophony.

“ _Ravio?”_

And the realisation sinks in - he is _Ravio,_ and his hero, his _Link_ is here. Link is here, he’s alive, after all this time, and it doesn’t feel as real as Ravio wishes it did. It feels like a dream, despite the clarity with which he sees him, the crystalline ring of his voice through the downpour; he cannot bring himself to convince him that it is not a dream. He needs to _feel,_ he needs proof - he wants nothing more than to reach out, to bring his fingers close enough to press against rough skin and calloused knuckles, to shift strawberry blonde out of icy, piercing eyes. 

The rain falls harder and he sees something moving - _something,_ dragging through the onslaught relentlessly and it’s raising a club above its head and it’s right behind Link and _oh,_ Ravio understands what he has to do. 

Hesitation isn’t an option - he throws that caution, that _fear_ that lies in his chest, curling around his lungs, to the wind as he throws _himself_ between Link and his assailant. The space between them seems infinite, stretching across dimensions and time and the whole world, but he knows that if he stretched out, he would be able to run his fingers over Link’s cheek and brush away the tears that traced streams down the hero’s cheeks.’

“I’m here now,” he says, and it’s surprisingly steady as he takes one last look at those eyes, at how they burn against the falling rain, and he smiles. 

The fight is short, it’s brutal, and there’s red dripping down his face from his temple as he pants, trying to regain his breath. The monsters he had taken on are on the floor and he feels a fire scorching his veins - he’s used to this, he’s used to battle, but this is different. A turn of his head finds him clutching at his chest, and it’s too much, but it’s there all the same. 

When he sees his hero, the world around him slows to a halt and all he can see is _Link_ . It takes a moment for the realisation to set in, but he's running before he can think too much about it. They collide and the breath is knocked out of him, and _oh,_ Link’s lips are on his and it’s perfect. Ravio’s hands are gripping his hero’s tunic and he doesn’t want to let go, he never wants to let go again for fear of disappearing, so he doesn’t. He holds on and Link’s fingers are splayed over his back and the world has faded into a haze around them. 

Link raises his hand to press it against Ravio’s cheeks, his thumb gently wiping away tears he didn’t even know he was shedding. “I thought I lost you,” he chokes out, and his voice burns like a bonfire; Ravio lets it echo in his mind and he lets them fall together again. Link’s face is buried against his neck and his arms wind around Ravio’s waist, and all he can think is, _don’t let go._ “Don’t you dare _ever_ leave me again,” Link stresses, and it’s fierce and steady and all Ravio can do is mumble a promise. 

His hair is wet, his clothes are soaked, and none of it matters. The throbbing in his skull hasn’t subsided yet, but he ignores it. He winds his hands against the hero’s tunic, and feels himself stumble a little. He ignores it. 

“Ravio, Ravi, please-” Link’s voice sounds distressed - why? Ravio doesn’t understand, but his vision is blurring at the edges. He smiles when he finally finds the hero’s eyes, and he revels in their warmth. They’re kneeling, now, and there are arms supporting him. When did they get to the floor?

Ravio mumbles something - he isn’t sure what it is, but what he does know is that he means it. Link’s eyes widen and he flinches, and Ravio wants to kiss away the frown that settles on his face. He can’t really move, right now, so he settles on gazing at his hero, at all the fine details until they blur away into darkness and the steadiness of the hands holding him falter. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The morning brings a quiet melancholy found after a storm, and the light soothes him. It’s a gentle touch on his face as his eyes flutter open, letting in the brightness and he can _see_ the dust dancing listlessly through the room on the shifting beams. 

There is weight against his side and he resists the urge to glance - he wants to lie here in the breath of the sun that sifts through the house and over his cheeks. What does prompt him to move is the strained murmur that he hears clearly against the hazy static the morning provides. 

“Link?” 

His voice is rough and he swallows thickly, peering down at the head resting against his abdomen. The strawberry blonde is something he would see from miles away, knowing his hero was near. And now he is, and it’s more than Ravio can ask for. He almost forgets the lingering feeling of Link’s lips on his and the strained tone when he had spoken. ‘ _We can’t do this._ '

Link’s head rises too fast and the way his eyes flick around the room before settling on him, pinning him with a wild look that feels like he’s staring straight through him,makes Ravio almost wince away. What he does instead is hold that stare, trying his hardest to even out his expression - anything but allowing Link to see all he is hiding. 

“You’re awake.” Link’s voice wavers but he doesn’t look away, and Ravio could get lost in the depths of those eyes. “How are you feeling?”

Ravio feels his heart leap in his chest and it’s an ache, burning more than any star or any flame. “You’re here,” he replies quietly, and he ignores the question. His voice is steadier than he expected, although the words lodge in his chest; the rhythmic pounding reminds him absently of the rolling thunder from the night before. 

The hesitation in Link’s eyes, the guarded look he has as he shifts away a little, it’s a blow to the chest and Ravio is holding his breath. He keeps it in, he lets it linger against his tongue and wait to flurry out at the next opportunity. “I…” the hero swallows, and Ravio sees his adam’s apple shift. “I’m sorry.”

The breath Ravio is holding feels heavy and it sinks in his throat, a stone dropped in water. He doesn’t know what to do or what to say, and it’s as if something cosmic is hovering by his side, an unspoken question between them - _are you sure?  
_

“...What?” 

“I’m sorry,” Link repeats, and the words are viciously ripped from him; they rumble with an uncertainty and an overhanging guilt and Ravio wants to protest, but something inside him stops the noises from even forming. “I’m sorry I left. I’m - I don’t have an excuse.”

Ravio takes a moment to look at him and he knows he should just nod and let it go, he should just forget it all, but he doesn’t. He can’t. “Why?” he asks, after a beat, and he faces Link head-on, making sure the hero sees him and all that he is, all of his doubts and his fears and the lingering _hurt_ that’s never truly left.

Link pauses, brows drawn together, and the light in his eyes burns just as bright as it did on the day they met. When he looks again at Ravio, all he can focus on is the way the sunlight from the window falls on one side of the hero’s face, curving over his cheek and illuminating his pale eyelashes, and Ravio doesn’t know what to read in his expression. “Do you think love makes us weak?” He finally asks, and his voice falls in the early silence.

He’s taken aback by the question, and he thinks over his answer, and thinks over it again. “I think that love gives us courage,” he answers and he hates how his voice breaks halfway through it. “And you already know how I feel.”

“You told me you loved me,” Link spills and that’s it, Ravio knows it’s done but he can’t bring himself to believe it. “I’d tell you the same if I could.”

… _What?_

The words are almost a whisper and they replay in Ravio’s mind, over and over and over, and he wants to try back. He wants to say something, _anything,_ but Link keeps talking.

“You have to know because-” Link breaks off with a pained noise, continuing with eyes squeezed shut, “I can’t keep living a _damn_ lie around you.” 

“You can’t pretend you didn’t kiss me,” Ravio counters, and his voice is weak, and his fingers are shaking by his sides and _oh,_ he wants to take it all back. He lets the words sink in and he knows what’s coming, he knows it’ll hurt, and the ache in his heart agrees with every stutter in his chest. 

Link opens his lips to speak, and closes them just as quickly. He averts his eyes and Ravio wants him to turn back, wants to tell him _look at me,_ because there’s so much they need to say, but Link finally finds his voice. “I’d do it again.” 

All the breaths Ravio’s been holding in rush to his head and he can hardly understand but he _knows_ he heard right. He knows, and he doesn’t know what to say. All he does, for now, is reach out to hold his hand. It’s warm and he can feel the hardness and the lines, and he smooths his thumb over the back of it. “You give me courage,” he says quietly, and that’s all he needs to say. Link sucks in a breath and the fire in his eyes is a wavering candle under the breeze. “And I know you have courage. But take your time.”

Link nods. That’s all he needs to do. The quiet of the morning is more comfortable, this way. They have time, all the time in the world, because Ravio would wait an infinity and search every dimension in his reach and beyond it if it meant being home, with Link. 

They don’t let go of each other and Ravio doesn’t need to dream of strawberry blonde.

His hero is home.


End file.
